


Bloodstrider

by TrickRune



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Blood Magic (Dragon Age), Blood and Violence, Breast Fucking, Canon-Typical Violence, Cunnilingus, Dismemberment, Dream Sex, F/M, Fantasizing, Forced Ejaculation, Forced Masturbation, Human Sacrifice, Kissing, M/M, Mind Control, Multi, Non-Consensual Oral Sex, Oral Sex, Partial Mind Control, Rape/Non-con Elements, Shapeshifting, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28502043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrickRune/pseuds/TrickRune
Summary: A torn diary page:A shame to see the young Amell cut down by templars, but surely he must anticipated such reprisal when defending a maleficar! Granted reason seldom has purchase where matters of the heart are concerned and fewer things are closer to the heart than a dear friend. Still I cannot fathom why that Grey Warden would knowingly recruit a Blood Mage, from under the Templars no less! Clearly he does not fear sullying the reputation of his order more than that of the Blight.-
Relationships: Jowan/Alistair, Jowan/Desire Demon, Jowan/Leliana (Dragon Age), Jowan/Lily (Dragon Age), Jowan/Morrigan (Dragon Age)
Kudos: 3





	1. A Dream for Flowers

In the shadows of the chapel they met, secreted away from the ever watchful eyes of the templars by grudging deference to the right of all to sanctity. She, a devout initiate; her face soft like the petals of a flower but her convictions resolute. He, an unsightly man, loathed among even his brethren for suspicion of forbidden practices In the shadows of worship and reverence they stole away moments for declarations of love and hands clasped in anticipation of unions yet to come. 

His breath was heavy as their lips inched closer, unsure if their forbidden relationship could still escape notice if they dared to kiss. Inspiration surged in her and she drew their joined hands to her chest, releasing their entwined fingers to guide his hands onto her breasts. His fingers rested on those soft mounds for a moment, his long fingers giving them a tender and intrigued before capturing her lips with his. It was a clumsy affair but his heart swelled as her arms encircled and embraced him. 

He broke from their kiss to plant another her collar bone, causing her to gasp a soft, sweet moan:

“Jowan”

In an instant it all fell away; the chapel they were in, what remained of their robes and the trepidation that held them captive for so long. One hand retreated from its caress of her breast to snake down to his own member, and holding his hardness between his thumb and forefinger he began to guide it, pressing. 

Another encouraging moan.

“Jowan” 

The folds of her vagina parted at his insistence, a fresh bud opening its petals and he sighed into her neck as the warmth of her began to enfold his cock, massaging and tugging on it, drawing it deeper. They held for a moment, both panting as if they had been running for hours: overwhelmed. 

She planted a soft kiss on his shoulder eliciting a rock of his hips into her; a moan, a kiss, another thrust, another moan. Finally he began to pick up pace, thrusting in earnest,; the sensation of her vagina growing more intense with each thrust. He wanted to go deeper each time, even buried to the hilt, he wanted to sink deeper into her sex. 

“Jowan” 

Her moan was hoarse, issued between panting and squeaks. 

His attention returned to her breasts as he continued to thrust, such beautiful, young breasts - the epitome of unsullied maidenhood. As he dragged his fingers tenderly over them he noticed something small, a mark? It seemed dark; almost a stain. 

“Jowan”, she moaned, growing more hoarse still. 

“Lily”, he finally replied, speaking that sweet name, memories of her smile blossoming in his mind’s eye. 

Panting and thrusting he removed his hand to look more closely at the mark and there on her breast was his own hand print, smeared on her clear skin like sludge. 

“Lily?” he cried out, his heart racing for new reasons, panic setting in as he removed his other hand finding another mark much the same. 

“Jowan!” she rasped, her legs wrapping behind him and holding him fast inside her, where he continued to thrust without mind of his own. His gaze shifted from the marks on her breasts to his own hands now thickly coated in blood, and finally as a raspy moan pierced his confusion, he looked upon the face of his Lily. 

Moaning and panting before him was the face of his beloved, twisted and cracked, teeth sharp and crooked and skin sallow. He knew this creature: it was Lily, and it was darkspawn. Why was he still thrusting!?

Fear and disgust filled him as he tried to pry himself free; to remove his cock from her, to free himself from the legs wrapped around him. His hands leaving more hand prints on every inch of once perfect skin as his climax began to quicken - by the Maker, why was he still thrusting into this monstrosity!?

“Jowan!”

That was not the voice of the monster or his Lily, nor even his own… a foreign voice? No, he knew it, albeit only for a time. He felt himself release into the nightmare before him and between euphoric gasps he watched streams of red erupt from the edges of the creature’s vagina. Again the new voice called out to him and realization dawned on him as the scene before him departed with the parting of his eyelids. 

Alistair and Duncan were stooped over him, faces filled with concern as Jowan exhaled heavily in remorse. Alistair offered him his hand, and taking it, he rose to his feet to join his fellow Grey Wardens.


	2. A Road Under the Sun

He had dreamed of the wondrous world beyond the tower, dreamed of escaping with Lily and living the life he had been entitled to before his mother and father had abandoned him out of fear. 

The wondrous world sick with the rot of the Blight and stained with tragedy after tragedy. 

His feet and back ached from trudging through the mud and grass, days spent travelling from the massacre at Ostagar to Lothering and then onwards further: unlike his companions he was not built for the road or the wilds. He was doing better today than yesterday, and with typical glibness Alistair had suggested it might have been him putting on some muscle. 

He thought he might find common ground between Morrigan and himself but it was clear that magic itself was not common ground enough between them. Though it might have gained some modicum of respect from Morrigan, he dared not mention the blood magic he had once practiced lest the patience and comradery Alistair had shown him evaporate into suspicion and persecution. 

Then there was Leliana: terminally delightful and caring, she seemed almost a friend on this journey to Redcliffe. In truth he wished she was a friend, someone he could talk to openly and air his past and errors. She would understand, she was the sort. It was strange that Lily and Leliana, both Sisters of the Chantry - were so alike and yet so different. 

He chided himself, he had thought Lily to be many wonderful things, and she was, but she could not accept what he was - what he had been willingly to do. Why then should Leliana be any different? She was more worldly yes but was that truly enough?

Expectedly he was slower than everyone today too, and from paces behind he watched them walk, Morrigan in whatever the term was for her attire, Alistair his armor and Leliana in leather. She seemed comfortable in both the leather she wore now and the robes she had worn in Lothering, both clung to her movements with a certain naturalness. 

She reminded him of Lily in many ways. He had not known Leliana long but already he found his mind wandering as it had in the Circle Tower. What lay under that leather or those robes, soft skin and supple… 

He stopped himself there, he could already feel a twitch in his loins and he had little want on this journey to expend more effort on covering himself.

He sighed, apparently too loudly, as an Orlesian accent called out to him.

“Jowan, is everything all right, do we need to slow down or rest?”

“If we are going to stop for every sigh or ache we might as well lie down and let ourselves be swallowed by the Blight here and now.” 

Of course Morrigan had something to say, she always did. Planting one foot in front of another he barely paid attention to the banter that erupted between Leliana, Morrigan and Alistair as they debated the merits of rest. 

While walking. 

Was it always going to be like? A road or a path stretching onwards with an unseen chaos snapping at his heels… Jowan hadn’t even considered that there might be an ending to this journey. 

Slay the Archdemon? Defeat the Blight? 

Maybe he’d die instead. It would be an ending. 

He’d never see Lily again. 

Was he ever going to see Lily again?

He knew the likely answer and lifted his gaze to his companions as they trudged ahead of him. 

If he kept walking, he’d see another day, another road. He would wake to Alistair, and Morrigan and Leliana and the inconceivable task ahead of them. 

Would Lily want to see him?

He knew the answer. 

If he kept walking he’d see another day in this wondrous world. 

Alistair’s voice rang out:

“Jowan, we’re going to set up camp, we’re not far off Redcliffe but it will be dark long before we get there”

Leliana flashed him a sweet smile and Morrigan... she seemed as distant as ever.

He was going to see another day.


	3. The Crossroads of Humanity

He could not forget the looks in their eyes as he cast his spell. 

Alistair’s distrust and mortification. 

Leliana’s regret.

Morrigan’s tacit approval. 

Isolde’s courage and fear fading into nothingness. 

He could not forget but that was not his concern now, the path lay before him, shifting and twisting in shape and form but clear in direction. The Arl of Redcliffe had been poisoned and in desperation his son, Connor, a mage hidden by the privilege of nobility had unwittingly reached out to a demon to save him. Now he must free the boy. He felt almost heroic, but then the lives of those he could not save the night before weighed on him.

Redcliffe was a place of tragedy too. Jowan was becoming keenly aware that the world beyond the tower begets freedom but that freedom could be cruel. 

The battle to save the commonfolk of Redcliffe had been hard pressed even with Leliana’s charms and Alistair’s appeals rallying more fighters to withstand the siege. 

The dead came in scores, not shambling or shuffling but charging like maddened beasts trying to carve and rip through anything living they could reach. The militias’ arrows whistled through the air but less than half found their mark as the waves of the dead crashed into Alistair and knights. As a pair of knights fell to the onslaught, Alistair and Ser Perth began to fall back with the knights as lightning streaked from Morrigan’s hands to cover them and a hail of arrows descended upon the horde. 

Through the chaos a form broke through, a lone corpse streaking towards one of them militia men. He saw it coming, and took aim with his bow: a decisive shot to strike the creature down. 

He fumbled and the corpse was upon him, gnashing teeth tearing into him as he screamed for help. 

Leliana roared as she dove at the creature, her knives a flash in the moonlight. 

Another scream came from the militia and he whirled on his heels expecting another undead but instead glimpsed one of the men running in fear towards the Chantry. They were faltering.

More screams, the sounds of swords being dropped in the earth as the dead cleared the arrows and Morrigan’s barrage. Again the accursed corpses were upon the knights and Alistair but now Leliana joined the melee. She danced through them with her knives, cutting and stabbing where she found an opening before darting away.

An archer standing by him yelled and loosed an arrow as a corpse bounded towards them and though he was sure he had raised his hands to shield himself instead he felt his palms grow warm as a streak of flame lanced from his hands striking the creature squarely and knocking it to the ground where it lay motionless and burning. 

Another emerged heading straight for them but before Jowan could react a familiar form darted past him. Morrigan with the grace of a cat leaped towards the creature as magic engulfed her body and her shape twisted into that of a giant spider. Jowan watched astonished as she pinned the corpse and tore open its head with her fangs. 

In this moment of awe and respite Jowan’s heart steadied and he surged forward into the fray, placing himself between a militia man and a corpse that had broken past the defensive line he hammered it back with an arcane blast as several arrows sunk into it. 

He had faced darkspawn in the Korcari Wilds, these were but dead bodies. 

Jowan pushed his consciousness outward, his mind focusing on the image of the swords wielded by the remaining knights and Alistair and then on the warmth blossoming in his chest. With a shout he reached out mind and body and their blades ignited with flames as they cut into the horde. They were not afraid of this sudden reversal. How could they be? They were facing the sum of their fears already: death rising up to meet them. 

He threw another arcane blast over Leliana’s shoulder, shattering the skull of an approaching creature and racing to her side he bathed more still in a stream of flame. 

They fought on and many more fell before the night was over. 

He pushed the memories of the previous night from his mind and in doing so found himself before the source of the madness: a demon of desire.


	4. Drink Deep of Yearning

Jowan stood at the nexus of Redcliffe’s misfortune, a dais in a realm of broken skies and stone held together by the pleas of a desperate boy who only wanted to save his father. There she stood too, a being of yearning and malice whose body curved in ways both familiar and alien

“It seems you’ve found your way interloper. Now what must I give you so that you will find your way out?” she spoke, her voice an echo in his mind and in the world around him. This creature was powerful.

“You can leave, or I can destroy you, c-creature. You will not have this boy or this place.” 

A strange confidence on Jowan’s part, still rife with his quintessential sense of dread but burgeoning into something genuine.

“So you’d like to play the hero? Yes play is the right word. What if you could be a hero? Be all that you want, have all that you want?”

“W-what? Do not try to draw temptations out of me, demon. I will not be swayed by the likes of you.”

The demon’s tail whipped behind her playfully as she placed one clawed hand to her breast and massaged it softly. 

“Not by me certainly, but I am hardly constrained by such idle concerns.”

Her smile widened and blossomed into a sheet of petals that fluttered away leaving the visage of his beloved, all her sweetness and innocence intact. She approached demurely, as Lily would have, one arm covering her breasts the other her loins, a pleading look in her eyes. 

“Jowan, think of what we could have together. Promise me you’ll think about it?”

His words of rejection and conviction caught in this throat like lumps of stone as she closed the distance separating them and lowered the arm covering her breasts to reveal two perfectly pink nipples. Her hand was on his chest now, his naked chest.

He realized it then, he was already bare before her, at her will. Her other hand moved from her loins and gently grasped his member causing it to begin to swell as they sank to the floor, lips locked in a long drowning kiss. 

He felt her guide him inside of her and he groaned as the soft warmness of her being as she enveloped him and began to rock slowly on his cock. Their kiss broke as she leaned back to pant and whimper for him, her beautiful breasts bouncing rhythmically with their motions. 

“Oh Jowan, my love, how I have longed to be with you. Say you’ll accept me, all of me.”

He groaned the name of his love, Lily, but it was not her name, even as his mind clouded with perfumed thoughts he knew this being for what it truly was. 

“Jowan” 

This was not her speaking now but another, familiar but he could not place it.

“Who… is…” he moaned to the ether, a dozen faces flitting through his mind as he tried to place the voice, all the while Lily continued to ride him slowly. A new hand stroked his bare chest and suddenly the accent was clear. 

“Jowan” she whispered, as he turned his head to the source and there lay beside him Leliana, as naked as she had been the day he had spied on her taking a bath in the river. His eyes were wide and she merely giggled at his reaction as her fingertips danced across his chest playfully. 

“I knew you were watching, I did not mind. In fact it has been since anyone has looked at me like that. But don’t you want to do more than look? Don’t you want to touch?”

Leliana lifted herself up and swung one leg over him so she might kneel over him, her fingers dragging from his chest to her legs and up to her nakedness where they gently pulled apart the folds of her womanhood for him. It was a soft but rich colour with delicate lips and Jowan felt what little of his breath escape him as she lowered her pussy onto his mouth. 

He suckled at her cunt, the folds kissing his own lips as Leliana sighed in satisfaction punctuated by the groans of Lily who had begun to ride his cock in earnest with faster more deliberate motions. 

“Jowan, think of what could be if you set yourself to it. Did what you needed to.”

This was neither Lily or Leliana, this was the demon speaking. No, they were all the demon speaking but in this moment he did not care. His tongue lapped at Leliana’s pussy and he felt himself quickening to Lily’s pace and he moaned into Leliana’s moist cunt as he came inside his former love, Leliana’s matching both his and Lily’s moans with her own. 

Although he could not see her, he felt Lily slowly lift herself off his spent member, the sensation almost unbearable and then Leliana was lifting herself from his face, her pussy dripping as she shuffled back and slid herself down onto his cock, suddenly hard and ready again. 

Lily was nowhere in sight but he did not care, Leliana bounced herself up and down on his hardness with no preamble or pretence, moaning loudly. The sound of their flesh slapping reverberated in this empty place and again he came. He closed his eyes panting, spent but invigorated at the same time and felt Leliana remove herself too. 

In the blackness of his own mind he lay there, trying to catch his breath, trying to remember his purpose and conviction in this place when again he felt sensation between his legs. A hand stroking his cock back to attention and he opened his eyes to look down his body and witness Morrigan slide his length between her plump lips, swirling her tongue around the head of his cock. 

She bobbed her head on his slick member as he watched, barely able to comprehend what was happening now, his body exhausted and his mind ragged and reeling. She let his cock slip from her mouth and slid her body further up his to wrap his length in the softness of her bountiful breasts, massaging it and licking his slit as his head poked through her cleavage. 

It took little effort from Morrigan to coax another orgasm from him, the cum first splattering onto her tongue and face and then dribbling out onto her bosom. 

Jowan was before the demon, dressed again, those moments of ecstasy whisked away to some unseen corner of reality but burned into his memory. 

“Such myriad desires you have, Blood Mage. All within reach” she taunted as a feminine moan echoed from his side. He turned to see Lily again, naked on the ground, legs spread and cunt overflowing with his cum, her fingers buried deep inside the slickness. Another moan from the other side and he saw Leliana much the same and turning back to rebuke the demon he found instead Morrigan playing with the cum on her breasts, eyes sultry and predatory. 

Clawed hands wrapped around his waist from behind to pull him into an embrace and cold lips pressed against his ear whispering possibilities. Jowan pushed himself free from its clutches and turned ready to strike it with magic and instead found more eyes upon him, begging for him to take control, to take them, their bodies naked and flesh excited. 

Lily, Amell, Alistair, Morrigan, Leliana, Isolde and others whose names he did not know but he had seen: apprentice mages, warriors from Ostagar, the folk of Redcliffe... 

“I do not know how” he whispered, scarcely believing that he dared dance this dance. 

“I can show you”

“Teach me”


	5. Dressed in Skins

Morrigan had that smug look on her face, not the usual one of self-superiority, the one where she felt vindicated and beyond reproach.

“Well, well, it seems you were capable of more than I expect of any Circle Mage. Not just a Warden but a Maleficar too. I imagine Alistair is seeing you very differently now.”

Jowan scowled, even her approval came in a backhanded way. 

“Struck a nerve have I? Better than you striking a vein.” she jabbed playfully,

“Worry not, I do not think ill of you. Blood magic is but a tool at your disposal and you would be wise to not waste your tools out of concern for others opinions.”

“It has less to do with opinion and more to do with Templars wanting to skewer me on sight for being an ‘abomination’, we didn’t all have the privilege of being raised in a swamp.”

“You presume they did not come for Mother and I? They came. If you are so concerned about being discovered, why not take steps to disguise yourself?”

“Oh yes, next time we see a Templar I’ll just transform into a bird and fly away” 

“You are a mage are you not? It is within your reach, I could teach you if you were so inclined.”

Jowan let the memories of his training as a Shapeshifter fade back into the recesses of his mind. He needed to maintain his focus. They had come to Lake Calenhad, to the Circle of Magi intending to plunder the libraries for knowledge on the Urn of Sacred Ashes. At the Circle Tower he was a person who would be shown no mercy even as a Grey Warden so indeed he needed to be nothing more than a Warden. 

Morrigan had derided the idea of using her magic to assume the likeness of another person but for Jowan, another’s face would suit his needs as ‘just a Grey Warden’. He found he took quite easily to the practice: the shaping of flesh through magic was not unlike commanding the flow of power through blood. He pondered if Morrigan might too possess some knowledge of that practice, she certainly showed little concern regarding his abilities - though perhaps that was the bravado of an apostate who had never known confinement.

He aspired to more than bravado, his experiences in Redcliffe had instilled in him true knowledge of the power he wielded. He was so much more than spells and blood magic: he had the power to change the world around him. Now he could shape his form and in that vein he felt himself rising to the task of shaping his desires into destiny. 

Desires. 

Something about that word felt so strange and yet familiar to him, like a lover forgotten. He dismissed the notion as the tower came into view and he steeled himself to face the world he had once done anything to flee. He feared that they would see through his magic, discern his true face and yet he did not fear them. No, he did not fear them at all only that moment of truth.


	6. Singing to the Night

She saw him differently now, despite his use of Blood Magic and the sacrifice of Isolde, she saw him stand tall on the behalf of the vulnerable. She saw him as the man who plucked her from the nightmare of the Sloth demon, reminding her of her purpose and place. No longer was he a lost man in need of consoling and encouragement - he was an equal.

He had faced the brokenness of the Circle, a place that had failed him and even though he had concealed his identity, he had treated those that remained with compassion. Even the templars had not been beyond him: he had used magic to soothe the fractured spirit of Cullen and fought back the demons that had sought to seize control of the tower. He had spared the assassin Zevran, given him a second chance as he had been given. 

Leliana found herself growing closer to Jowan as he grew into confidence and virtue, spending their nights chatting by the fire. She understood why Alistair still held his distance but she could not doubt the intentions of the man before her. No, closer was not the right term, she knew what she had begun to feel. She knew the moment she had witnessed Zevran trying to flirt with him and found herself filled with pangs of frustration. 

It was deep into the night when the others had retired that she was seized by a reckless impulse and revelation. The campfire was naught but embers and they had been inching closer for warmth. 

She turned to speak but found him already looking at her, his expression obscured by darkness and barely readable. It was not his true face but the one he had been borrowing since their visit to the Circle. He had confided in her that it took some effort to maintain the transformation for days on end but that he could not afford to release the magic now that Wynne travelled with them, lest she recognize him. He had spoken of his fear that Alisair would give up his secret to the Circle mage out of just but thoughtless intentions, a concern she felt not entirely misplaced. 

“The others are asleep you know, all of them and it is so dark. You could be you again…” she trailed off, not sure if she was offering the advice out of compassion or if she was requesting he undo his magic for her. 

It did not seem to matter her intentions, even in the dark of night she could see his face returning to that of the man she had first met in Lothering. Not a conventionally attractive man, a little pale and haggard but one she found dear. Leliana smiled at Jowan, finally Jowan again and he kissed her in return. 

She was not taken aback, in fact, she was relieved that she had not been misinterpreting the mutuality of the growing attachment she had felt. Her hand stroked his stubbled cheek, fingertips pricked by the small jagged hairs as she let herself melt into the hand that had begun to make its way up her leg and to her inner thigh. 

She was not sure how he had acted so deftly, but it was mere moments before his fingers had bypassed her leather armor and were gently teasing the lips of her pussy. She gasped softly, breaking the kiss for but a moment with the sound - it had been so long since someone else had touched her there. Jpwan wasted no time in reclaiming her with another kiss. She could feel herself getting more aroused, loosening and becoming wetter as Jowan slipped a finger into her, stroking her inner walls while never letting their long kiss end. 

She was again the one to break the kiss as she let out a contented sigh and Jowan seeing this as approval pushed in a second finger began to slowly pump his digits in and out. The motions were not skillful but they were sincere and she found herself stifling small squeals of pleasure, not wanting to wake anyone else in the camp. 

Jowan gently pushed her onto the ground so she could lay on her back and she instinctively spread her legs wide as he continued to slowly finger fuck her. Her own hand moved down to her loins and she began to play with her clitoris as Jowan removed his two fingers and replaced them with his tongue. 

Beginning with long licks from the base to just before where her fingers danced, he then kissed her, tugging softly at her inner lips with his own. Leliana thought herself not entirely herself but the escalation of affairs was exhilarating. Her fingers left her clitorus to tangle in Jowan’s hair as he began lapping and licking at her pussy, his own hands holding her legs open and up as he buried himself in her snatch. 

She wanted the pleasure he offered her now and yet she wanted more too, she wanted to please him in return and to experience him fully. As if reading her mind she felt him trace a long, drawn out line with his tongue from lips to clitoris before rising up over her to push himself inside her. 

He groaned in appreciation as her pussy swallowed him to the hilt without issue and he let himself stay still and buried as he stared down at her, his expression abstract but intense. She did not recall him undoing his robes but then she had been sufficiently distracted by his earlier attention. As if to chase the thought from her mind he began to slowly pull himself back withdrawing his cock from her before sliding it back in at an almost agonizingly slow pace. 

His hands moved from her legs to the ground either side of her, bracing himself against the earth as he began to thrust inside her, slowly at first but then picking up speed. She wrapped her legs around him drawing him in closer, as he fucked her with fervor. She could not help herself any longer and the still of the night was punctuated with her squeals and groans, she placed her hand over her mouth to silence herself but it was not enough as Jowan continued to fuck her with silent zeal. 

Jowan could feel himself nearing climax and grabbing Leliana’s hand he pulled it from her mouth and kissed her with abandon as he fucked her with intentional, rapid thrusts. Leliana kissed him in return; she could do nothing else; breathless as he stole her moans and buried himself in her, releasing his warm seed inside of her. 

They lay there for a time, basking in each other, clinging together for warmth in the cool air, the campfire long since expired. Eventually they parted with a kiss but without words, content to leave any declarations to the morning and retired to their respective tents.


	7. Axis of Sanctity

He had passed every trial, stood before the gaze of the Guardian and he had not buckled or revealed any more than he wished to. At the base of the stairs before the Urn of Sacred Ashes stood his sweet Leliana, the surprisingly loyal Zevran and Wynne, who he kept by his side if only to stay watchful over here. The need to take the final step was all consuming, he could feel it thrumming in his veins and so he released the need; with knife to palm he drew blood and let his own life force spill unto the ashes. 

The euphoria was instant, blocking out pain and extinguishing any possible regret. The sound of the Guardian, the wraiths and the temple itself waking to his defilement were also undeniable and he turned from where he stood atop the stairs to survey the situation. His companions stood between him and the spirits of this place, weapons raised. 

“What - have - you done!?” boomed the voice of the Guardian in the silence of the temple, his voice like thunder shaking the foundations of the room. 

“I followed my heart’s content. I have what I needed and the men outside will join me against the Blight.”

Even from where he stood he could see the Guardian’s eyes widen as realization dawned on him, the veil separating his all seeing gaze from the truth buried deep in Jowan’s blood and mind now lifting, with intention. There in the veins, vessels and thoughts between she lay, like a coiled viper, warm and content: Desire. 

Then the Guardian’s eyes were upon his companions as magic welled up around him, releasing and crashing into them like a wave knocking Leliana and Wynne from their feet while Zevran seemed unphased. The Guardian’s assessment, as earlier was mostly precise. 

“You are complicit but these two souls are not. You have cast a long shadow over this place but will not be allowed to leave.”

Leliana slowly rose to her feet clutching her head, the events since Redcliffe filling her mind, not just the times she remembered but the times she did not. Memories stolen away, time lost, things that had been taken but that she had not given. 

“Jowan, how could you?” her question came like a sob, she had grown to love this man. Hadn’t she? That is why she had let him take her, night after night, was it not? Love!?

“Maleficar” snarled Wynne, she too came to the same conclusions though with no memories of campfire love making to accompany them. 

“Jowan! Answer me, why!?” howled Leliana, her grief quickly turning to rage. 

“You remind me of my lovely Lily, I think I may have a thing for Chantry sisters”

A bloodcurdling scream erupted from her as she drew her knives, trying to run up the stairs to confront him but the blades were quickly parried by Zevran. The elven assassin drove a foot into her gut and pushed her back down the stairs. 

“You will fall here Abomination!” 

Wynne raised her staff as dust and debris from about the room collected before her compacting with the aid of her magic to become a mighty stone which she hurled with unseen force at Jowan. The young mage dove out of the way as the projectile collided with the wall behind him, as he lifted himself from where he landed he could see Wynne preparing another spell as the Ash Wraiths began to surge along the sides of the chamber to encircle him. 

Meanwhile, Zevran danced with Leliana, their blades whistling through the air in elegant arcs, though she was gaining ground on him. In no small part due to the Guardian leaping in at the last moment with cleaving blows to force the elf into a corner. 

Jowan reached deep into himself, to where she lay, the cut on his hand burning like a flame as he called forth every ounce of magic he could draw from himself at a moment’s notice. His blood screamed, the walls sang as he allowed the raw energy to erupt from himself. 

The wraiths shuddered and writhed, paralyzed by the overwhelming force, Jowan’s intentions and convictions consuming their very nature, causing them to crumble like sand. The Guardian too faltered, his mighty swing ending mid-flight, limbs shaking as Zevran slipped under his guard, driving a knife into the spirit’s throat. Not a killing blow for a being such as he, normally, but Jowan’s spell poured into the wound crushing the existence inside him. 

Wynne tried desperately to hold onto her spell, she felt it and the spell Jowan had unleashed pressing against each other. Like two great wheels with teeth intertwined, each threatening to overpower the other and in doing so shatter - 

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind then was it made manifest: Wynne’s spell unravelled at her fingertips with a cacophonous boom, the resulting force peeling flesh from bone and limb from body as she was flung to the ground, a bloody stump where her free hand had been and her staff in splinters. 

Jowan slumped back to the ground, exhausted, from where he lay he could hear Leliana shouting Wynne’s name before her words were cut short with a gargle. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed when his remaining companion: Zevran approached him and pulled him into his arms. 

Deep within him, she purred.


	8. Stretch Wide Your Wings

There had been many questions about the loss of Leliana and Wynne, about the deep wound on Jowan’s hand, as to why, once Jowan was recovered they were not going to go back and recover the bodies so that they might be buried rather than left to rot. Many questions and many suspicions. 

Alistair was the most forthright about it and yet Jowan knew Morrigan too had her doubts about the story: ‘slain in battle with the cultists’.

Still, Jowan and Zevran had acquired the ashes so that Arl Eamon may yet be saved, and pressing on this very point he convinced them that the matter might be dropped. Lest they lose someone else vital to their cause. That did not remove the need for prudence on Jowan’s part.

Jowan had sought a moment alone with Morrigan several times on their journey back to Redcliffe, and each and every time she was able to slip away from him or was nowhere to be found. Jowan had sought to be prudent, and his wariness seemed to be proven more justified with each such incident. They were but a day from Redcliffe when he finally managed to corner with the guileful witch. 

There she was amidst the trees and brush, a fair way from camp, idle but alert and there he was perched in a tree, ebony and innocuous. When she finally relaxed, her shoulders lowering her eyes scanning the perimeter no longer he descended with a flap of his wings, his body twisting from that of a crow to his usual self. 

“Elusive and cautious as always, Morrigan”

“I did not expect a bird, I must admit. I rather imagined you’d come bumbling through brush again as you are, or as a wolf: snapping and hungry”

“So you are avoiding me”

“Quite obvious is it not?”

He studied her, his eyes perusing her and her body, watching for any sudden movement, digging for a clue as to what she wanted to conceal or be concealed from. In truth he knew, but what he wanted was confirmation. 

“I’d say it’s about time we are honest with one anoth-” her words caught in her throat as her body seized where she stood. A few drops of blood in the stew they had shared around the campfire, it was all it took for him to exert momentary control. 

Pointer finger raised to his mouth he sunk his teeth in, causing blood to blossom from the digit as he moved silently towards the paralyzed Morrigan. His other hand reached for her clothing pulling it away and open before shoving his hand down to her loins and pushed the bleeding finger inside of her, letting himself flow into her through her canal. She watched, eyes watery with violation but soon that softened into complacency as his magic worked through her. 

Not a full binding, much like Leliana and Wynne, just enough to keep her compliant but not to erase herself. Thankfully Morrigan was much like Leliana was, young and beautiful; he could take this route. He lamented the many nights he had to spend feeding Wynne more and more blood in her dinner to gain influence over her. To speak nothing of the difficulties he was having penetrating Alistair’s Templar resistances. 

He eyed Morrigan’s plump lips and seized them with a kiss as he turned his bloody manipulations from gaining control to eliciting pleasure from her soft cunt. However he quickly found himself growing bored and removing both finger and lips he commanded Morrigan to fall to her knees before him. 

Obediently she sank lower and he undid his robes to free his erection which she greedily swallowed without insistence on his part. Her lips rubbed up and down his length, making long slurping noises as she did so, occasionally stopping at his cock head to swirl her tongue around it, showing special attention to the underside. 

Jowan allowed this to continue for some time, enjoying her mouth but finding himself growing no closer. With a breathless incantation he caused her to seize once more and grasping her by the back of the head began thrust into her mouth and throat with little care for her. She did not move or react as the sound of his dick sloshing in her throat punctuated the quiet of the wilderness. Growing more impatient he picked up speed bringing himself to climax, burying himself as far as he could go and squirting his warm seed down her throat. 

Satisfied with achieving his original intentions and this little exercise in the strength of his magic, he withdrew himself from her mouth, a string of cum running from the tip of his cock to where it had grazed her lips. 

“Return to the camp when you are ready Morrigan. We will set off for Redcliffe in a few hours.”

Jowan tucked himself away and leaned down to look again into Morrigan’s half-vacant eyes, his hands fondling her luscious breasts to again test that his magic was in place. Satisfied with her lack of reaction he kissed her goodbye.

Her mouth was salty with his cum.


	9. Crowned with Vanity

“No! I will not allow it, I am drawing the line, here, and, now”

Now? After all you have witnessed? Has your sentimentality finally broken the spine of your cowardice? 

“He’s dead Alistair, what does it matter?”

“What-what does it matter!? That is my half-brother, your King hanging up there, not some plaything for your magic”

Jowan scoffed at Alistair’s protests, all he had suggested was that they not bury or cremate the body of Cailan immediately as he might have a use for it. The king would see his rest soon enough and their cause would be advanced - hardly treason or blasphemy as Alistair would have it.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to convince everyone of your intentions, whether it’s magic or if they’re all just as heartless as you Jowan.” bleated his fellow Warden 

“Maker knows the only upstanding people that were amongst us are gone, dead for reasons you have never seen fit to fully explain - what happened Leliana and Wynne? “

“Alistair, I told you-” began Jowan, his patience wearing thin now. 

“Tell me again, but tell me the truth Blood Mage, did you suck the life out of them like you did Isolde!? Bleed them dry!?”

Jowan turned to Alistair and flung out his arm as if to cast a spell and Alistair raised his sword defiantly. 

“Your true colours at last Maleficar!” he spat, overflowing with contempt and self-righteousness. 

Yet no spell came from Jowan, no utterance or enchantment, he held his pose as Alistair held his stance the two at a stalemate in the cold air of the dead and gutted Ostagar. Time ground slowly onwards until Alistair he felt something smash him over the back of the head as he collapsed forward, his sword leaving his grip and clattering on the stonework. 

Dark smoke slowly seeped from Jowan’s outstretched hand now, slowly advancing on Alistair, seeking him as it twisted into tendrils. Alistair lunged forward to grab his sword but another blow hammered into him this time from his side knocking him onto his back as he saw the ever smug Zevran standing over him. 

Of course, Jowan’s little helper, he had been there the entire time the two had fought, he hadn’t said a word and Alistair hadn’t noticed him moving behind him amidst his accusations. The elf placed his boot on Alistair’s chest to pin him as the tendrils of smoke descended upon him. They touched him, gingerly at first leaving black and slick marks on his armor and he realized now, that this was not smoke but blood. 

Having found purchase on his armor the tendrils became more excited as they creeped up his body towards his mouth and as he attempted to shout in defiance they surged into his open mouth, his nose and his eyes - the taste and smell of copper suffusing his senses. 

When the mist had finally disappeared from sight, having fully entered Alistair, Zevran removed his boot from the templar’s chest and turned to Jowan. 

“Is he yours?”

Jowan exhaled deeply through his nose, tired from forcing so much of himself and his magic into Alistair, past the man’s defenses and training. 

“We shall have to see… Alistair, I want to make use of Cailan’s body before we cremate it, what do you think?”

Alistair pushed himself up from the ground and looked at Jowan, contemplating the question, his face twisted into a deep grimace but his voice toneless and obedient, replied with what Jowan wanted to hear:

“If that’s what’s best, I agree”

Jowan’s mouth curled into a deeply satisfied smile, it seemed that the direct approach was always going to be the only way to pull Alistair to his side and it had worked. 

“Zevran, get that body down, and Alistair.... Alistair, you should strip.”

Zevran chuckled as he moved over where the limp body of Cailan Theirin had been hung on display by the darkspawn as Alistair, face still a grimace slowly rose to his feet, and then began to unbuckle and remove his armor for Jowan. 

Jowan stood, his body betraying none of his intentions save his smile and his eyes glinting with unknown desires as the body of Cailan was dragged before him and Alistair removed the last of his armor, without excitement or shame. 

“Alistair, your underclothes too, Zevran, the same for the body.”

Zevran nodded, his own eyes full of curiosity as the royal brothers, one dead, one enslaved were revealed to the pair. Jowan studied the two of them, although limp and broken, Cailan’s body was definitely the more muscular and broader of the two. His gaze travelled downward to study another aspect of the half-brothers, he almost chuckled realizing again Cailan had proved to be the superior. 

Alistair was far from disappointing, in fact he was significantly larger than Jowan in both length and thickness, he probably would have had the largest cock Jowan had ever seen if it were not for the dead king. Where Alistair was impressive among men, what were men to horses and Cailan was far closer to the latter than the former. 

Jowan began to disrobe, he noticed Zevran’s eyes were on his body as much as they had been on Alistair and Cailan’s. A flash of disappointment crossed his eyes when Jowan’s soft cock was revealed, a pale shadow to the two royals, but Jowan knew Zevran’s voyeurism would be rewarded soon. 

He advanced on the body of Cailan, the eyes of his two companions on him as he kneeled down before it and began to place his own naked flesh on top of it. He stretched out his body, torso to touch Cailan’s torso, hand to meet Cailan’s hands, his feet parallel to Cailan’s.. He inhaled deeply ignoring the smell of death that had set in as the veins under his skin twitched and pulsed as something of his self reached out to the body of Cailan, stirring in the corpse the last vestiges of its blood. A faint pulsing emanated from Cailan’s chest and Jowan set his own heart’s pace to match it as the world melted away, letting the fingertips of his magic run rampant over both of their bodies, tracing every groove.

When Jowan finally rose from where he had lain spread eagled on top of the dead Cailan, he rose with muscles now swelled, broad and tall, a pendulous cock and balls hanging between his legs. He had become the mirror image of Cailan save for his face.

Zevran let out a low gasp and Jowan watched as Alistair’s eyes widened in horror, cognisant of what had happened despite the thralldom that was etched into his blood. Jowan now approached Alistair and standing before him looked deep into eyes. Such fear and horror and reflected in them his new visage, brimming with satisfaction. 

Alistair did not move or resist as Jowan began to tug on his cock with little care, unable even to wince at the forceful motions and unable to express the shame he felt as his cock began to stiffen at the mage’s beckoning. An unseen force tagged Alistair’s gaze down to see his hard cock and next to it the hard cock of his half-brother, worn by the mage, dwarfing it. 

Alistair was unable to look away as Jowan released him and instead wrapped both hands around Cailan’s cock. Stroking it with abandon he let out a guttural sound as he drenched Alistair’s cock in thick white seed. 

Jowan turned from Alistair to Zevran, his cock still half hard, a string of cum dangling from the slit, and motioned for the elf to bring him his robes, hoping they still fit.


End file.
